Taking a Sick Day
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: She woke up, and she felt terrible.


When Elizabeth woke up, she felt terrible. She was freezing, though she could feel the sweat on her face and back. Her head pounded and throbbed. The only coherent thought in her brain at that moment was _paracetamol_.

She staggered out of bed and somehow made it down the stairs in one piece. Elizabeth took two paracetamol and barely made it to the couch before collapsing on it, spent from her escapade downstairs.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew there was a hand on her forehead.

"Jesus, Elizabeth." It was John, in full on doctor-mode. He felt her cheek, and then he popped a thermometer into her mouth. She moved it under her tongue. Just when she thought she would drift off again, the thermometer beeped. John sighed.

"How bad?" Elizabeth asked. Because it felt like she had suddenly decided to become a furnace. She wished her body had thought to consult her on that decision.

"38.7 degrees Celsius." John answered. "Have you taken anything?" His mobile buzzed, and he checked it quickly.

"Two paracetamol."

"Good." John was frowning at his phone. "Damn, not now."

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Surgery. They need me to help out at A&E." John was cursing softly. "And Sherlock just has to be out on a case. I don't even know where Mrs. Hudson is."

"I'll be fine," I insisted, willing myself to seem better. "I can manage on my own."

"I-" His phone beeped again. Obviously something was _very_ urgent. "I'm going to text Mycroft. He'll come stay with you." He was gone before Elizabeth could protest.

Elizabeth turned on the telly and flipped the channels until she found Doctor Who. Rose had just met Jack Harkness when Mycroft entered the flat. Without a word, he sat in the armchair and fixed his eyes on Doctor Who.

Elizabeth felt terribly awkward. Her basically-the-British-government uncle was supposed to be stopping nuclear wars, not babysitting a sick teenager. She told him as much, but he just shook his head.

"Elizabeth, watching you right now is the only thing keeping me from a meeting with the Prime Minister." Elizabeth mumbled an apology, but Mycroft just smirked at her. "I don't know how to thank you."

Mycroft must have been working very hard recently, because in thiry minutes he had fallen asleep. Elizabeth switched the telly off. She was just about to doze off as well when a thought caused her to bolt from the couch.

She raced to her room, throwing on the first clothes she saw. Damn it, how could she have forgotten? She skidded past the mirror to check her reflection. Not to bad, she only looked a little pale. It didn't matter, she would only be ten minutes anyways.

Elizabeth had forgotten that she was pet-sitting for the Millers down the street. She had to feed and water their dog, Chauncy. She bounded out of the flat and set off.

It took longer than she had anticipated. Chauncy had managed to get herself wedged between the couch and the wall, and it had taken forever to get her out. Then the dog had refused to eat. It had taken a lot of bowl shaking and pleading to get her to eat. By the time Elizabeth finally left, it had been almost two hours.

She walked slowly back to the flat, tired from her adventures. She had just reached the door when it was wrenched open, and her father stood in front of her. Elizabeth ignored his brooding presence and made her way to the living room, falling back onto the couch. Mycroft was sitting in the corner, looking very much like he was in a time-out.

Sherlock retrieved the thermometer and gave it to his daughter, who stuck it in her mouth obediently. Elizabeth didn't understand why her father seemed angry. Maybe he had blown up the new toes he'd gotten from Molly.

"Why didn't you tell Mycroft where you were going?" Sherlock demanded, pulling out the thermometer when it beeped. He looked down at the number and frowned.

"He was asleep." Elizabeth answered. "I didn't want to wake him up. It was only supposed to be for ten minutes." She quickly changed the subject. "How did the case go?"

"It didn't," Sherlock said. "Plans changed when I got a call from Mycroft that my sick teenage daughter had disappeared."

"I was fine," Elizabeth insisted. "You didn't have to go to the trouble of coming home."

The front door opened and footsteps pounded up the stairs.

"Oh, that's not all he did." Mycroft remarked, smirking slightly. Sherlock glared at him, and the smug look faded abruptly.

"Sherlock, I haven't found her yet, I'm sorry." Lestrade yelled as he came up. "I've got everyone out looking, and I've come to get a piece of her clothes for the hounds..." He trailed off at the sight of Elizabeth lying on the couch. "Oh, good, you got her." He whipped out his phone and began typing frantically, most likely calling off all the king's horses and all the king's men.

Sherlock looked at the ceiling sheepishly. Elizabeth was very touched at the lengths her father had gone to try to find her. She was also very embarrassed at being treated like a child. That humilitation grew as John came running up just as Lestrade was leaving.

"Thank God!" John swooped in and took the thermometer from Sherlock, putting it back in Elizabeth's mouth. It beeped, and he took it out. "Good, good, it looks like your temperature has gone down." Mycroft left then, mumbling something about needing to negotiate a peace treaty.

"I _was_ fine, you know." Elizabeth said again, glancing over at Sherlock, who was staring at her from his chair.

"I knew that." Sherlock muttered, causing John to raise his eyebrows.

"That is the biggest lie I have ever heard!" John laughed. "You were worried sick, Sherlock. We all were, even Mycroft."

"I was merely concerned for that poor dog she was taking care of." Sherlock argued.

"Rubbish. Elizabeth, Lestrade told me that Sherlock went whiter than a ghost when Mycroft called him. He was nearly hysterical when he talked to me. Don't let him tell you that he doesn't care."

Elizabeth smiled. She looked to her father, who was avoiding her eyes, "Love you too, Dad."


End file.
